The Chicken's Revenge
by chuxter
Summary: ."Watson, I do hate chickens."
1. Chapter 1

_**To Lafemdilletante, because I said I would...  
yours - Siriuspunk**_

"Watson, I hate chickens." Holmes stated, a dire look on his face.

"I know Holmes but while Mrs. Hudson is on holiday I see little chance of us eating properly if we remain at Baker street."

My friend grumbled under his breath, 'healthy eating.' and then added 'ridiculous' as an afterthought.

"Well I'm sorry Holmes but I _am _a doctor, and I do worry about your health when your appetite becomes infrequent."

"But I _do wish _you could have chosen a cottage without _chickens,_ Watson, the birds have some strange vendetta against me."

"Nonsense Holmes!" I laughed, "Chickens don't have anything against you, I thought you were a man of sense for goodness sake!"

He turned from the window of our cottage, a foul look of distaste, pasted over his features, a moment later a chicken hit the window behind him, "See?!" He cried, "They're flinging themselves at the window! They're _threatening_ me!"

"Holmes, chickens don't jump, plus the fact that that was clearly a coincidence!" I said, a stern glint in my eyes.

He gave me that displeased look of his again and turned to the window, sighing loudly as he did so.

"Holmes, you can sigh and pull faces all you want, you're not going back to London!"

"Oh, how can you do this to me Watson?" He cried, another chicken hit the window behind him, "I'm not safe!" He cried, leaping up from his seat and hurrying out of the room, I stood there for a moment, trying to keep a straight face, then I burst into peals of laughter, _chickens holding a vendetta against Holmes, ridiculous!_

**_Be afraid - be very afraid, chickens are strange freaks of nature and are, under no circumstances, to be trusted!_**

**_Thanks, hope you enjoyed it guys, methinks this will be the first chapter- because I never write long chapters so I still have a lot I wanted to say. _**

**_Please R&R!! come on - you know you want to!_**


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks to dilletante2, DancingGrass, bcbdrums, charleygirl, Pompey and Susicar for reviewing.  
Also, my heartfelt thank you to Blue Flyhight and Kadal for +faving and +alerting._

_And as for dilletante2 and bcbdrums, thank you so much for author alerting **me**._

_Hey, Does this sound **slash**? Just wondered.. :s_

_Enjoy:_

As you may have gathered from my other stories, my dear reader, my bizarre friend, Sherlock Holmes, has a great many gifts, these include outstanding dramatic skills, the art of disguise and also the incredible ability to not be found when one would wish to be alone, yes, he can disappear so realistically, that, if I did not believe magic a falsehood, I would most certainly believe him to be a magician.

It was the latter of these gifts that wiled away at my patience that afternoon, "Holmes? Where are you?" I called, up the stairs, down the stairs, under the stairs, over the stairs; I looked everywhere.

**"Holmes!"**

No answer, I tried again.

After about two hours of thoroughly searching the ridiculously small cottage I finally gave in, "Fine," I huffed, "Fine!" I walked down the stairs, calling out, lest he be near enough to hear me, "If you want to spend _all_ afternoon _sulking_ like a child over something as ridiculous as a chicken, then feel free, enjoy yourself! I don't care."

I cared..

The next morning there was still no sign of him and I had been up, worrying half the night.  
My eyes were tired and heavy, like my eyelashes were no longer made of hair, but lead instead, and each blink would linger for a longer period, increase my temptation to blink again, my upset mind wandered; perhaps he had gone out, maybe he was staying at the Village Inn, safe and warm, or maybe he was lying on the side of some train tracks after some catastrophic accident, bleeding and hurt, calling my name in desperate mews as the pain cascaded over his body and the gravel around him flourished with the deep red of his blood, perhaps he was lying there, calling my name and wondering, wondering why I wasn't coming to him.

My eyes snapped open again, for a moment my heart raced, my skin prickled, what if he needed me? I told myself I should go to the train tracks, just in case, if he wasn't there then I would keep walking down them till I found him, I didn't want to feel the irony of the scenario that he did indeed lay bleeding, but it was around the corner from where I met the train tracks, and I never thought to turn that corner, no, I would keep walking.

I stood, pulling my coat over my shoulders; no time to wash or change, I hurriedly opened the door, stepping out into the cool chill, medical bag in hand, I reached the end of the path, then I heard him behind me, my heart plummeted to the floor, I turned, a mixture of relief and anger overwhelmed me suddenely, he stood there, a cigarette in his hand, and the cold look of a lone wolf in his eyes.

He was stood a short distance from our front door, looking at me curiously, "Holmes." I whispered, my voice hoarse.

He looked at me, a powerful stare.

"You idiot." I said between gritted teeth, "You absolute bloody idiot!" He only had time to look mildly shocked as I lunged at him, first I hit him, then I held on to him, gasping my relief, he grunted and collapsed into my solid embrace; he knew that there would be no point in struggling.

I could see he hadn't slept well, smell the damp on him, where had he been? In the attic? On the roof?

"You _ever_ do that to me again and I swear, I'll chain you to the front door like and animal." I whispered into his ear, a false smile plastered on my face; I would edit this out of the story later.

"Perhaps you should listen to me next time." He smiled back.

"Don't you be cheeky to me or you'll soon see how good I am at keeping my promises." I whispered in his ear, grasping the back of his neck and giving it an 'assuring squeeze' he gasped as his head flung backwards.

"Sleep well?" He choked.

"Brilliantly!" I lied, marching back to the house.

As we reached the door I saw a chicken stood on top of the shed, Homes didn't notice it, still rubbing the back of his neck, a look of agitation pasted over his features.

Suddenely, it started to run, slipping and sliding down the roof towards us, it gave out a strangled cluck as it collided with Holmes' head, desperately scrabbling at his face, clutching at strands of his hair and ripping at them, it fell to the floor, and, after a moment, waddled away again, leaving Holmes, screaming and struggling against my grip on him, trying to get away.

"Holmes!" I yelled, "Goodness man, see sense!"

He looked at me irritably before throwing himself to the floor with a dramatic wail and curling into a ball there, sobbing.

After a minute I ventured to poke him with my foot, he remained still, his shoulders constantly heaved with the tears, but otherwise he was not moving, I sighed quietly to myself and went inside, closing the door behind me.

_ A little bit of my lifestyle appears to have slipped through here, don't know what I was thinking when I wrote this; I spend about 25 of my free time either on the roof or thinking about the roof... I'm a spazz bat._


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks to dilletante2 and bcbdrums for their reviews :D  
Hmm.. methinks I should make chappy 4 funny.._

_Enjoy:_

When Holmes re-entered the cottage his face was pale and his lip was trembling, the long scar down the side of his cheek swayed my heart, "Oh Holmes." I sighed, standing up, "We never should have argued. I'm sorry, it's my fault."

My friend's lip wobbled dangerously and his eyes welled up, he bit over his bottom lip, this, combined with his scruffled hair, made hime look quite picturesque.

"Sherlock," I said, "We can leave if you want, get back to the busy hubbub of city life?"

His eyes flicked away from mine, "I'm so scared Watson." he whispered.

I blocked the fact that it was chickens we were talking about from my mind; this was no time to laugh.

A chicken hit the window behind me, I saw my friends gaze falter, a heartbeat later he was in my arms, clinging to me, "Watson they're trying to get me!" he gasped.

I buried my face into his hair, and smiled.

"Where did you sleep last night?" I asked, smelling the damp on him yet again.

"I found a dumbwaiter.." he started, but he never finished; I had burst out laughing.

"This is not funny!" He demanded, "Stop laughing! This is serious! Chickens are bizarre freaks of nature with a personal vendetta against me!"

"Okay, okay," I smiled as he elbowed me in the ribs, "Ow, Okay! I've stopped."

He looked at me stubbornly.

Pouting lips, loose fringe flopped over his eyes.

I found myself sniggering again.

"Watsooooon!" He whined.

"Oh Holmes," I gasped, "Oh, my dearest Holmes!"

_PLEASE R&R xx_


	4. Chapter 4

"Come on Holmes." I sighed impatiently, "I would be finished by now."

"I can't it's really hard." He replied irritably.

"For goodness sake, how hard can it be?" I said, shifting uncomfortably in my chair.

"Very hard." he snapped, "You should pay someone else to do it for you, look, I've hurt myself now! You should be more patient Watson or I won't do it at all! It's not natural!"

Our landlady had told us she was sending her neice down to look after us while she was away but a train delay had stopped her from arriving and so Holmes and me had decided to take it in turns to cook each meal, Holmes was a godawful cook but neverhteless I was starving and I truly did wish he would hurry up.

I absentmindedly closed the kitchen window as a chicken came running, full pelt, towards it, it smashed into the window and quickly recovered in time to stop itself from falling and sat on the wndowsill clucking evily, it's beady yellow eyes glaring at Holmes through the glass, I observed it, a pang of disbelief firing through me.

"Holmes, I am beginning to wonder if you posess some characteristic that offends chickens." I stated calmly, my attention fixed on the chicken.

"OW!" Holmes yelled from behind me, I turned to see him, hand in mouth, with a slight tear in his eye.

"Hand go on the saucepan?" I asked vaguely.

He nodded and I got up to pour him some cold water.

At that moment a young woman blustered through the door, the wind in her hair, she slammed it shut behind her and turned to face us.  
She was quite attractive, long, curly hair, rosy cheeks and bright eyes made for incredible features.

"Hello." She said, "I'm Rosie."

We had a brief moment of greeting before Holmes bitterly reminded me that he was in pain and my attentions were distracted, although my thoughts were not so easily swayed.


	5. Chapter 5

_oioi Lady Holmes, this chapter is inspired by your review, thanks._

_enjoy:_

Holmes walked into the kitchen, quietl tiptoeing up to the kitchen sink, he was looking for something though he had no idea what.

"Thirsty Mr Holmes?" Came a cold voice, he spun around to face Rosie, closer than he had expected her, too close, perhaps, for comfort.

"Rosie." he gasped, looking around for some route of escape.

Her hand raised up to stroke his cheek, making him flinch, her fingers moved over his lips, her eyes wide, alluring.

He tried to move away but she caught him, "Time's up," she hissed, "There's a price to be paid. _Know _your days are numbered."

His heart stopped, she stepped back from him and suddenly her size began to swell, her eyes seemed to bulge forward towards him as if she were about to combust.

There was a loud bang and he averted his eyes, when he looked back a giant chicken stood before him, clucking and eyeing him with big yellow beads.

He opened his mouth to scream.

"Holmes!" exclaimed Watson, "Whatever is the matter?"

Holmes' eyes flickered open and he sighed in relief.

"Oh Watson," he said, gripping his friend's arm, he leaned forward and whispered to Watson, "First the chickens try to kill me, then suddenly a mysterious woman appears? I'm not too sure we can trust this 'Rosie' person."

_And that's your lot._

_reevyuuuuuu pleease_


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